


Secret Santa Countdown

by Readerinsertfanfiction



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel), Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga), イケメンヴァンパイア | Ikemen Vampire (Visual Novel), イケメン戦国 時をかける恋 | Ikemen Sengoku: Toki o Kakeru Koi (Visual Novel)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:47:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 4,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28792656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Readerinsertfanfiction/pseuds/Readerinsertfanfiction
Summary: Secret Santa Countdown - Some little extra's to the side until I got to the real Secret Santa
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Venulus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venulus/gifts), [CrazyBoneLady](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrazyBoneLady/gifts), [Dejahthoris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dejahthoris/gifts).



Victims: 

  1. Venulus x Julian 
  2. Dejahtoris x Atem 
  3. Mezzy x Vincent 
  4. Sosutease (Matsu) x Kichou
  5. Ieyasuwu (Zay) x Ieyasu 
  6. WorkbyRui (Rui) x Kyubei
  7. CrazyBoneLady (Mama Jules) - OC x Kennyo
  8. Lorei x Masamune 
  9. Nad-Zeta x Theo




	2. Continuation

“Venus, huh?” the man had a wide smile across his lips as he leaned against a pillar, one arm swept up over her head as he hovered over her with the rest of his body, “like the goddess of love, right?” he added, his voice lowering as he tried to sound mysterious yet intelligent.

It earned a scoff from his sister who rolled her eyes and waltzed away, deciding to leave her brother off the hook for once as he tried to act the ladies man. Julian was a whole lot, but smooth was not one of them, for the doctor tended to attract enough disaster and chaos to cancel out any attempt to seem graceful and smooth.

Such today proved itself to be as well when he tried to adjust his weight, his arm still leaning against that pillar that turned out to be quite unstable after all as gravity did the rest, pulling him down along with his conquest.

“Ah, hmpf, I …”

And there he was plagued with that characteristic blush of his that covered his face. Embarrassment was Julian’s middle name and there was little the man could do about it now that he had managed to topple not only him but also the other over.

But Julian was also every bit inventive, too used to calamity chasing after him as he brushes his hair out of his face, smiling down at the woman below him as he cocks a brow.

“I quite like this sight,” he says, “can I interest you into a continuation?”

The suggestion was prosperous and Julian couldn’t really believe that he was saying this out loud and in the middle of the party, but he had, just as that he had slipped and he was rolling with it. He had to, his pride was on the line and the doctor had to admit; there was a certain dramatic flair to it that was rang quite nicely with his overall perceived image, along with it being a good safe.

“Not that I don’t mind proceeding here,” Julian went on and this time he did give himself a mental facepalm, because of course he had to ruin the moment and take it a step further.

It was a blessing that her reaction wasn’t to slap him in the face, though Julian couldn’t say that he didn’t mind one from her. After all, she truly was like a goddess of love to him.


	3. Eternity

Eternity was a lonely word. It indicated no end, it marked no start, it couldn’t be captured in time. Atem had experienced that first hand. In his eternal life he had no idea when his existence would end just as he had long forgotten his start.

It was something that grew all the worse, and yet somehow softened, in the forest. Trees were endless, or supposedly so. They generally beheld the same appearance, if he didn’t pay them too much attention, and were quiet and sturdy enough to accompany for a long while. However, the vampire could tell from its width that none really surpassed him in age. Whilst the view remained his surroundings did change. 

But nothing that was as bad as the world that laid beyond the forest. The dusty roads that turned into paved paths, then the horses that turned into iron carriages, then the constant sound of mechanics passing by. The forest blocked it out, but on the days that the wind blew into the wrong direction Atem could both smell and hear the modern age as his heart ached over the time passed and his neverending story. 

He remembered Tea, that young female that got lost in the forest. Bold and caring, affable and friendly. She had been the first friend he had made in a long while. But she was born in an age where women were expected to wear skirts and nowadays he sometimes saw them run through his forest in nothing but a top. 

How much time had passed by now? Atem had a vague idea, and that was all the more confirmed when he met Deeja. Though, back then she was just ‘her’ someone else, someone who reminded him of his old friend, who had now grown to be a grandmother. 

“You’re back again,” the man spoke before he had seen her figure. Every night, at the fall of dusk, without fail she returned. After the first encounter Deeja kept on returning, claiming that she had lost something, claiming that she needed to pass through. Atem was old and experienced enough that these were just excuses and that she was just curious, but he let it slide. 

“I told you not to wander in the forest after sundown,” he continued to speak, wondering if he had made a mistake by sharing his name with her previous visit. It certainly made her appearance in the forest all the more…

He didn’t want to admit it. Not to himself. Not to the him with no beginning and end towards the very creature that was made of the essence of time. 

Atem couldn’t help but admit that he did look forward to her visits, however.


	4. Pastel & Bold

Pastel and bold colours, when Vincent heard about that combination alongside of her love for water there was a picture painted within his mind’s eye. One that was waiting to come alive on the canvas, one that was itching at him to be painted. It was the artist within him that sensed the challenge of making the colours work together. His love for the woman who managed to be both pastel and bold added into his determination to work on this piece into which he was to pour out all of his feelings.

“You’re so precious to me,” Vincent had smiled shyly as he asked her to sit in front of him. “I’m almost afraid I won’t capture every detail of yours,” he continued, using his brush as a measure to see how he was to translate his beloved’s features onto the canvas. Bold and pastels, he had to be careful to make sure that the colours didn’t drown each other out, that it wasn’t too overwhelming, but that it stayed true to her.

Somewhere he had considered incorporating several mediums at once. She had told him how this was popular in the modern era and Vincent liked the thought of it. For she wasn’t just watercolours to him, she was so much more than just another subject to paint, and the man agreed with the assessment that there wasn’t one technique he knew that could capture her loveliness.

And so he had it all laid out, not sure if he was to use everything, not even sure how to combine it yet. After all, Vincent had never tried it before and he had no clue if it was to work, but he was willing to experiment, to let his instincts take over where his experience left him.

And so Vincent gave her curls all of the bold and pastel colours he could find and mix, while her smile flowed like the riverbanks that he loved to walk past with her hand in hand, as her eyes shimmered like the brightest stars of the night. It captured her visage in all of the bold and pastel colours she was described to be, both calm and nurturing, but forward and passionate. It was the rising sun and the sunflower turning its crown towards the warmth all at the same time.

Vincent found that he did not have to worry about his inability to capture all what he loved best about her. For it was in everything that she was, and in everything she did and said.


	5. Dark Circles

Dark circles marked two pairs of eyes, four in total. The cause behind them the same for both, but the reason behind differing, yet somewhat alike.

“You look terrible,” he had said, not mincing his words, “when was the last time you slept?” Kichou wasn’t someone that bothered to ask how someone did, for most of the time he did not care. But that he did with Matsu was indicative of a different mood, perhaps even affection.

There was only a scoff in response, a roll of the eyes as the same couldn’t be said of the man. No matter how sleep deprived his appearance became, Kichou managed to look immaculate. Even with eye bags hanging over his cheeks she was sure that he would still manage to turn heads in amazement.

The world was unfair in how much it had given Kichou. To the point that even dark circles looked fashionable and in style. A terrifying charm to hold, and for that reason alone the world had perhaps not graced him to be born in the modern age. For that would be too powerful.

“You are staring,” he frowned as his tone disapproved. “If you have time to be idle catch some sleep instead.” The way in which the man voiced his concerns was off-putting to say the least, but easily translated once one had spent enough time with Kichou.

Standing up he catches her arm, pulling her up with a short tug, “you will be of no use to me if you were to faint,” he speaks harshly, but once more the words are easily translated.

‘Don’t overwork. Rest. I’m concerned. You’re overworking yourself.’

Two sets of eyes, four lined with dark circles and a string of words left unsaid. The cause was the same, but the reasons differed. Kichou could force one to sleep, but he didn’t quite manage to force himself to sleep. Or to be honest. At least, not alone.


	6. Rest

Once Ieyasu came to terms with his feelings there was an affectionate man unveiled. To her, to Zay, all of his icy insults and callous attitude melted away like snow before the sun, turning sweet and nourishing and warm. A man hungry for love revealed himself. A man with a heart so well hidden he had trouble finding it himself, but she had unveiled it and now he was unable to hide from her.

“Just stay right here,” he had told her, a little gruffer than he had meant, but still with that same warmth he usually only reserved for her. “You have been working much too hard lately, don’t push it now,” the blond continued when he had retrieved his salve. With a swift move Ieyasu had caught hold of her hands, turning them over as to show the blisters that had formed from the labour she threw herself into daily.

“See, troublesome,” were his only words, but there was a tender smile on his face that revealed that Ieyasu didn’t mind it so much to have to take care of her. Never of her. Not for Ieyasu, but it did worry him for she would and could push herself so endlessly.

“And this here should help you rest easier,” Ieyasu followed up, picking up yet another bottle as he handed it over. “I have noticed those bags,” was his mild follow-up before he flicked her nose, a teasing smile on his face.

Ieyasu wasn’t a man of many open affections, having hidden his heart for so long. But when it came down to her he couldn’t help but to relent a little. His heart slipping through in every action and word.


	7. Coax

It was the constant ‘badump’ that brought her peace and calm. The rhythm steady, strong, like the man from whom it came. A constant throb, gentle and unwavering that only she was allowed to listen to. That only she could feel, beating softly against the side of her face and into her ear as she rested her head upon his chest. A perfect sound, even and continuous. A sign of his life, a confirmation of his existence in this world.

The constant rising and falling of his chest that accompanied the drum of his heart was another sign of life and privilege she enjoyed. The feeling of being lifted up and down akin to the waves of the sea carrying precious cargo. It was reminiscent of his hair, long and dark, smooth and silky, cascading down his shoulders and now sprawled out over the floor and between her fingers. The sound of his breaths that were like the sighs of the wind in spring, refreshing and full of life was the only sound that could be heard. Like a gentle giant taking a nap on its hill. Kyubei was in this scenario her hill on which she found her rest.

“I have to get up,” the man murmured, head lifting as his lips moved against her hair. His voice was deep and still drowsy as his body remained unmoving beneath hers, “lord Mitsuhide is still expecting me,” he continued to try, but he wasn’t willing to leave his beloved yet.

Tightening her hold on his kimono Kyubei let a low rumble escape, gentle shocks vibrating from his throat as the man tried to hold himself in, not wanting to shake her too much. “Adorable,” he said before wrapping his arms around her. There was no intention of getting up, nor was there a need for it. Kyubei just loved the reaction it coaxed out of her.


	8. Coffee

The shadows in the room told him that the hour was still early and that the sun hadn’t risen yet. It was an uncanny ability of the monk to rise before the first lights hit the soil. A teaching that had forever remained with him from days so long past Kennyo could almost swear there was no time before that. Yet, here he was, wide awake but not for the same reason as to what had plagued him for years. Where his heart used to race, breaking at the same time, Kennyo found himself at peace for once. The nightmares that used to plague him so much replaced by a dreamless sleep. A dreamless sleep that the man would gladly take any day over the terror his mind produced. This very morning the monk felt… reborn.

His eyes immediately fell upon the reason why. Or rather, a factor of the ‘why’. For the path had been long and it had been arduous. It had even almost failed, but here he was and so was she and that was something no one could take away.

Asuga’s figure, warm and small, yet so capable and sturdy, was only vaguely outlined in the still dim room. The back of the kunoichi was turned to him as her shoulders rose up and down in a regular pattern. She was still beside him and for that Kennyo could only be grateful. It eased his mind, knowing that she was vast asleep while the world slowly awakened. Why she decided to trust him so Kennyo couldn’t tell, but for once he hoped that he could hold onto that trust. Just like he hoped that he could hold onto her hope.

In a way Kennyo liked to believe that he knew Asuga better than anyone else. After all the hardships they had endured, the time they had shared. He had bared himself to her, with all of the ugly shades belonging to it. How much of that was meant to chase her away he couldn’t recall but it hadn’t mattered. In response she had accepted him and done the same. Asuga had bared herself to him and Kennyo had found someone like minded, similarly ill-fated, and just as much in need of a savior. It was like looking into a mirror, but instead of seeing his scars and his flaws he saw a broken image that needed a little love.

The room was still dark but sleep wouldn’t come. Enchanting as her back was Kennyo tore his gaze away, hoping that he had enough time to prepare her a little something before she would wake.

It was silly, but there was once a time in which she had stayed here with him for the night and then left the next day. Kennyo remembered that well, for he recalled her eyes that night. When the moon reflected in them and the smell of rain was still fresh in the air. It was the night in which the gentle chill surrounded them and he had pulled his cloak around the two of them. How tired she had been, but still so brilliant, too bright and clear for him to stand, but so warm that he couldn’t help but wish her around for longer. Kennyo had wished for the morning not to come for the morning would mean that she had to leave again, and the monk had come to hate goodbyes with her ever since then.

But here she was now. The morning already in the air, just like many mornings had passed, and yet Kennyo still feared the same. That just as he felt reborn today, Asuga would decide that she could leave and take her love with. The monk feared that the most of all, to know that the end could be introduced so easily and callously, like the rising of the sun.

And then she stirred and a groan would escape her and Kennyo was reminded of one thing: she was not a morning person; and for such a person there was precious little to love when waking up. A smile crossed his lips as he thought of that, watching the kunoichi stir, stretch as her eyes opened already able to burn new life into the fire Kennyo had just stoked to prepare breakfast.

He knew a remedy for that. Pouring hot water over the weird dark solution that looked like dirt the monk was quick to prepare himself, allowing a fragrant smell to fill in the room before he whisked through the darkening broth. It was unnecessary, Asuga had told him so many times to just stir like normal, but Kennyo liked the ritual and the way it created a little foam on top of it, simultaneously cooling the cup of ‘coffee’ to a drinkable degree as soon as possible so that she didn’t have to wait for too long.

Little somethings he would never pronounce out loud as he handed the kunoichi her cup.

“Good morning,” he whispers, hands enveloping around hers for a little longer than needed before he turns back to preparing breakfast once more. It was a blessing to know that she was to stay for longer than just a coffee.


	9. Corn Flower

She had talked so often about her favourite little snack that Masamune had memorised every detail of it. The way she excitedly would ramble on and on, especially about her favourite poppy seeds. It was adorable and inspirational. However, the lack of visual direction made it difficult for Masamune to know the finer details and thus he was only left with the descriptions of its appearance and its taste. A fine challenge for the chef. **  
**

For days he had slaved away in the kitchen, trying out different ways to fold the dough, finding that regular was just not light enough, finding that the stove didn’t provide enough heat, but the fire underneath functioned a bit too well, and that steaming ruined the layers of the pastry she loved so much.

Somewhere Masamune was sure he had mixed up her stories as well, as he had started to put in both poppyseeds and cornflowers into and onto them, which was edible and interesting, but not quite what he believed she had described. 

The hardest part was, however, to keep the kitten out of the kitchen. And luckily that was easy enough of a task as long as she was occupied, but often enough Masamune would find that his little kitten was prowling about, chasing after a bunch of naughtier kitchens and getting a little too close to the kitchen in which he was preparing his surprise. 

Or that time she had mentioned the smell of baked poppyseeds on him, or found a stray poppyseed in his sleeve. All dangerous moments, but he had distracted her quickly enough with his usual grandeur. What the lick of a tongue usually did and the mention of his favourite nickname for her whispered down in the ear. 

But the days of secrecy were almost over and Masamune was satisfied when he pulled the treat out of the oven, satisfied with its delicate smell and light texture. The makeshift oven that he had built just for the occasion was a nifty little thing and new ideas were already forming within his mind as he thought of the things he could make. 

With the last bit of decoration on top of it; some more poppyseeds, added with some black sesame because he liked the fanciful addition and the fragrance, and then her favourite cornflowers to the side and the warlord considered himself done. Alongside some tea Masamune was giddy in excitement as he made his way towards a certain room where he knew that she would be working, a wide grin plastered all over his face as he knocked three times before allowing himself in. 

“Kitten, breaktime,” he announced himself, already imagining to himself the excitement and surprise in her surprise alongside those widening eyes. All little things he found so precious and that made the long labour and many experiments worth it.


	10. Love Like You

_“Firm brushstrokes to depict the strength of the water, yet at the same time managing to smoothly blend into each other…”_

The spark in his eyes whenever art was mentioned, the deep blues turning shades brighter when they beheld a piece that instinctively told him of the talent and passion the creator held was undeniably the prettiest sight of all. Theo’s passion and love for art was something that few could deny. Despite his proclaimed lack of talent, and lack of divine grace, the man truly understood and breathed in the essence of what art was meant to be. Perhaps, one could even describe him as the embodiment of art, like how the muses and deities of the old religions all depicted something.

> _When I see the way you look…_

Zeta may never have been in love before, but she knew when she saw that look that this was what love was supposed to be. Pure and devoted, passionate and burning. Or at least, it was the way she liked to imagine love to be. She couldn’t tell the reasons why she had never fallen in love before. Maybe it was the people she met, perhaps it was because their love had been daunting and oppressing, shutting her up. What she knew for certain was that she had guarded her heart carefully, unwilling to give it away so easily. But if she could learn to love like Theo did, then perhaps she wouldn’t mind giving her heart out.

> _Shaken by how long it took_

His heart was like any other, easily bruised. Bruised by the dismissal of the environment. The pompous pretentious Académie did not help in guarding his heart. Yet, Theo continued, never wanting to back down, never willing to give up. And to reach that goal he worked hard, harder than anyone else, for he knew that he had little to offer himself. Nothing, basically, for he lacked talent and he lacked the divine grace he mentioned so often. All he had was his body and his love and that was what he put bets on.

_“Sometimes we are so busy looking at how brightly others shine that we don’t realize ourselves that others are envying our abilities as compared to their own.”_

He had thought of Zeta as a handful, a ditzy and mouthy young lady from the carefree future that was thrown into an unfortunate circumstance. Yet, he found a commonality with her. A pain and a love that they shared. Her passion for food and plating, it went beyond a simple obsession for sugar and sweets like he had first thought. And when she shared her little piece of surprising wisdom the man realised that there was more to her as well as that there was to him. He had simply forgotten in the way he forced himself to continue, in his love.

> _I could do about anything_

Anything was lightly put. Theo was willing to give up anything for his love, his passion. But it took him a long while to realise that it is easy to give up, it is easy to end. All of it was the easy way out. The weaklings way, he found, for he found a pure strength in her. In the way she persisted and continued and fought. For it was harder to continue, for the real challenge was to go on and never give up. Theo wished that he had learned this sooner, adopted it sooner. But at least he knew now.

“What are you singing, popje?” he questions when he entered the kitchen, a tall brunette dancing around, smelling like sugar and fresh vanilla beans, the stove on and the counter a disaster that would surely give Sebastian a heart attack right then and there. She was singing in the midst of the chaos she had created in pursuit of her passions and to feed both of their sweet tooths and as she hummed and turned around to face him she cooed one last line at him. One that never failed to capture his breath and take away the rest of his heart that she already owned.

> _**I think I’m in love with you** _


End file.
